


Dazzled

by TurtleBread



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, OK I wrote this in the morning and it didn't age well so don't come for me :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27064543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleBread/pseuds/TurtleBread
Summary: Under the sparkling city lights of the polluted Shanghai skyline, maybe there is hope after all.
Relationships: Martin "Rekkles" Larsson/Rasmus "Caps" Winther
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	Dazzled

**Author's Note:**

> OK Seriously like... I'm sorry :( If y'all are still sad, don't read this yet lmao. Alt universe where FNC take it all :)

They’ve done it. The trophy is heavier than he expected, cold and real in his hands. His team is laughing, pulling each other into tight hugs as their coach runs in from the staffing room. His face, too, is wide with happiness. Martin wonders if he should feel the same. He turns his gaze across the floor.

Martin has never seen Rasmus cry, as unnervingly happy as he is. His last memories with him are haunted by his sunshine smile turned awkward as they pass each other in the hallway between matches. It’s impossible to want more than this, in the same way that it’s impossible to ask for anything less than this victory. Still, Martin would give anything to be anywhere but here.

Rasmus is surrounded by his teammates, hands pressed against his eyes and somehow, the image hurts. He’s too far away to hear what G2 is saying to each other. Martin’s team is right there, but he can’t hear what they’re saying either. He huddles up with them as they beckon him, grateful that they’re ignoring his dazedness. He doesn’t have a way to explain it away. Together, they lift the trophy once more and cheer as it flashes blindingly in the stadium lights. He swallows down the empty feeling and smiles for the camera.

It’s the last night in Shanghai for all of the international teams. Instead of going out to celebrate, Martin finds himself on the rooftop. The city lights glitter in the black ocean of night, dimmed only slightly through the pollution of the city. Smoke fills his lungs when he breathes in. It’s a comforting feeling, as familiar as it is painful. He pats his pockets, though they haven’t held cigarettes in many years. A sigh escapes, unbidden, and is the only sign of life as the metal door to the terrace creeks open.

The vivid discussion that at once filled the air quiets to a hushed conversation when they notice Martin standing there, hands in his pockets and eyes turned to the faded skyline. There seems to be some kind of scuffle and a few rough, short words exchanged as the door once again slams open and shut. He feels more than sees Rasmus move to stand next to him. His arms are folded against his body to ward off the mid-autumn chill, and Martin stares resolutely away even as he offers his jacket. The Fnatic colors look as they always have on Rasmus: beautiful.

For a while, they exchange no words. The Shanghai breeze speaks between them, whispering encouragement in their ears and pushing them closer and closer together. It’s Rasmus who speaks first.

“Congratulations,” he whispers, smile leaching through his eyes, “You finally won Worlds.”

 _Yes_ , Martin wants to say back, _but not like this_. Instead, he nods mechanically and turns away. He wants to keep this memory as it is, before he ruins it with his words. Rasmus seems to accept that a response isn’t forthcoming. He lets out a long sigh of his own and stretches his arms towards the sky, looking for stars that can’t be seen. He languidly removes the jacket, and Martin politely pretends not to notice as he presses it against his face to take a deep, stuttered breath in.

“Wait,” Martin can’t let it end like this. “Keep the jacket.”

_Would you have stayed?_

For a moment, he thinks that Rasmus will refuse. His eyes are carefully blank as Rasmus lowers the jacket and looks over thoughtfully. Martin thinks he’s biased, but the muted glow of the skyline doesn’t hold a candle to the boy next to him. Rasmus nods, smile wide enough to illuminate the starless sky, and takes one step back. It’s not a yes, but there is promise in every passing second. Martin doesn’t watch him leave, but somehow the night feels less lonely than before.


End file.
